


Too Deep

by rikacain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-16
Updated: 2012-09-16
Packaged: 2017-11-14 09:26:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/513760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rikacain/pseuds/rikacain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the story of someone who fell too deep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Deep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gabs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabs/gifts).



The sad truth is, you never do know when you're in _too_ deep.    
   
Sure, you can be knee-deep, hard to wade through, but still manageable. You can be up to your tippy-toes, testing the waters, it feels fine, let's go further. Or you can be up to your neck, your nose, over your head and you'll never know, you'll never know; you're too lost in whatever you're enamoured with and it's never _too_ deep.    
   
When someone tries to pull you out, you protest, no, I'm still fine, I'm in control. See? It hasn't gone past my nose yet, just touching and I'm still in control. I'm different from the others, I can succeed where they failed, try me; try, me. But oh, darling, it's much harder to see when it's over your eyes as well, and when it's over your eyes it's very much over your mouth and nose. Try harder and you're still there, you failed where the rest failed, nothing to feel ashamed about. People fail and move on all the time, life goes on, time heals all.  
   
(Just get yourself out and don't make me help you again.)  
   
Another sad little fact to add to trivia piece number one is that it is easier to get in than get out. It is easier to destroy than to create, easier to crush someone than to help them out (and doesn't that say something?). It is easier to scold than to comfort, it is easier to be angered than to keep it in; it is easier to ignore and carry on.  
  
Easier to settle into a routine, easier to pick up, aim, shoot and _kill_.  
  
But life has never been easy, Moran thinks and flicks the safety off, red dot flashing on and stays on. He cannot understand why Boss would go out there and reveal himself for ~~Sherlock Holmes~~ the world to see. He knows Moriarty is unpredictable, pushing the world to his whims and fancy - but never knew him to be _stupid_.   
  
'Fun,' he tells him. For him. Not for Moran.  
  
Aim and lock on.  
* * * * *  
What you must know is that Moran plays by the rules. He shot someone? He's in the middle of a war. He shot another soldier. What else is there to shoot? He shot another soldier who's on his side?  
  
Well, who said that he plays by your rules?  
  
When Moran comes back from that utterly boring hellhole, back to London where it's nothing better either, it's ridiculously easy to set up a business. Everyone knows that a man who shot another is a soldier (murderer). Everyone also knows that a man who shoots not out of honour is a man who does what he want.   
  
Everyone knows that with money, that man will do what they want.   
  
So with that little business going and a few close calls from over-demanding customers (they expect his loyalty, isn't that just hilarious?) he sets up some rules for them (himself) to follow. No visits that doesn't include business, no first-name basis, one person per contract. He's not running a charity here.   
  
(He adds on more rules as customers try to weasel a way out of them. Kids and women as an 'add-on bonus' - he doesn't discriminate, but _pay up_.)  
  
Business goes on, with even more close calls (they don't get the message, they never do, loves) and one day they come close enough.   
  
A fake assignment (he let his guard down, he's getting old) and a cocky sonuvabitch, who the hell talks to their target before they shoot them in the head.   
  
That's when Moriarty walks in, snaps his fingers and the idiot gets shot in the head. (He had it coming, don't you agree?)  
  
James Moriarty, Jim, you haven't heard of me, hi, is the first thing he says, then he rambles on about how old-style the idiot is, monologuing, seriously. Waste of time. Moran is half-inclined to agree with him - but who the hell is he?  
  
Jim, Sebastian, he says again patiently. It's three letters and one syllable. Not too hard for you, handsome, let's go out some time? Say yes? Yes. I'll see you at Artur's? Wear a waistcoat, you'll look good in one.   
  
He saunters out, stepping neatly around the idiot and leaves Moran there; and knows that Moran will go because he's curious, and Moran knows it too.   
  
Curiousity killed the cat, Ma says, but Moran's a big boy and can take care of himself. Right, ladies.  
  
(Wrong.)  
* * * * *  
First thing Moriarty says this time is _why didn't you wear a waistcoat_ and Moran says back _you didn't pay me_.  
  
Moriarty smiles, and they sit.  
  
The man eats, and Moran pushes around the food, takes pseudo-sips, giving it all to Moriarty when the man asks for it. Finally, when the man finishes eating, he asks, what's the assignment because Moriarty obviously wanted one.  
  
Moriarty scrunches up his face in deep thought. _I haven't thought of one yet_ , he shrugs, calls for dessert.  
  
What.  
  
What, he says aloud, and Moriarty eyes him with an amused huff. What do you want me to say, he asks. Kill the waitress for her horrid service? (Said waitress walks past, jolts in shock and scurries away.) No? Huh. Seems like you aren't as bloodthirsty as they say, Seb.  
  
When the dessert comes, Moran still doesn't touch the food.  
* * * * *  
It takes many more meetings before Moran would eat, and even more when Moriarty says _I want someone dead_.  
  
Fucking finally, Moran thinks, and says _who_.  
  
Ooh, that was fast, ten point five seconds, Moriarty smiles a nasty little smile, aren't you a bloodthirsty little tiger.   
  
Moran eyes him and finishes the too-sweet panna cotta.  
  
The next time, he decides to ignore Moriarty because the man already broke two of his rules, come on, but he waltzes in that very night with Chinese takeaway. I thought you were sick, he says, you aren't? Here, have Chinese food. Their mien doesn't taste too bad.  
  
Moran gives up that day.  
* * * * *  
He breaks his last rule on Moriarty's third assignment - one hothead who decides to step on the coattails of someone higher up, and an extra collateral.  
  
I didn't ask you to kill him, Jim says, frowning down at the picture of the extra.  
  
Well, he was in the way, Moran shrugs. I'll let you have that one off for free.  
  
Really? the man leans back and grins wide - _shit, what did he just say_. Thank you, Seb, I knew you loved me.  
  
Fuck you, Moran says, and Jim laughs.  
* * * * *  
Today Jim tells him to wait at the swimming pool, it stinks of chlorine.  
  
Today Jim reveals himself.  
  
Today Moran falls too deep.  
  
Are you an idiot, Boss, he says later that night. Jim laughs aloud and says maybe I am. Why, do you care?  
  
I do, he says, and Jim whips arounds, grins at him and asks.  
  
Why?  
  
You're giving me free dinner, he says frankly, but maybe, _definitely_ , it's more than that. But he doesn't say that out loud, so Jim looks disappointed, pouting for a second before turning away.  
  
(Later that night, Chinese takeaway again, Moran's hand settles comfortably over Jim's and maybe, just _maybe_ , this can turn into something.   
  
It does.)

**Author's Note:**

> Birthday fic for Gabs - happy birthday, darling. <3
> 
> I really hope you like this and don't think this is a waste of space because it may be a tad rushed and I came this close to angsting but you need happy stuff on your birthday.
> 
> And new style of writing, so oops.


End file.
